le brooks rustled among the stones, and rippled on with a
sound like fairy laughter. There was gladness and joy every where, save
in that heart which was now bereft of all.

"What could he mean?" said he, again and again to himself: "'A good word
brings luck!' When had I ever misfortune till now?"

Oh, Fritzerl! take care lest you are not making the common mistake, and
expecting the moral before the end of the story.

Were it my object to dwell on this part of my tale, I might tell you of
Fritz's long conflict with himself--his doubts, his hesitation, and his
reasonings, before he could decide on what course to take, or whither to
bend his steps. The world was a very wide one to hunt after a Starling
through it: that, he knew, though not very deeply skilled in geography.

Fritz had never heard of those wise inspirations by which knights-errant
of old guided their wanderings; nor, perhaps, if he bad, would he have
benefited by them, seeing that to throw the rein loose on his charger's
neck was a matter of some difficulty. He did, perhaps, what was the
nearest thing in practice to this: he wandered along, keeping the
straight path, and, neither turning right nor left, found himself at
noon in the opening of the beautiful glen that leads to Reute. He looked
up, and there were great mountains before him--not hills, but real
mountains, with pine-forests beneath, and crags above that, and over
them, again, snow-peaks and glaciers. They seemed quite near, but they
were still many a mile off. No matter: the sight of them cheered and
encouraged him; they reminded him of the old life among the Tyrol
"Jochs," and the wild cattle sporting about, and the herdsmen springing
from cliff to cliff, rifle in hand. Ob, that was a free and joyous life!

Fritz's musings on this head were suddenly put a stop to by a severe
pang of hunger, in all likelihood suggested by the odour of a savoury
mess which steamed from the open window of a little hut on the
road-side.

The peasant family were about to sit down to their twelve-o'clock
dinner, when Fritz, unconsciously to himself, drew up at the window, and
looked in at the tempting food.

There is one custom in Germany, which, simple as it is, it would be hard
to praise above its merits: that is, the invariable habit of every one,
so far as his means permit, to help the foot-traveller on his journey.
By an old municipal law of most of the cities, the tradesmen cannot
settle and establish th